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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24445354">(that i’m such a stalker, a watcher,) a psychopath.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/flustraaa/pseuds/flustraaa'>flustraaa</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Criminal Minds (US TV), Criminal Minds RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Attempted Rape, Hurt Spencer Reid, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Spencer Reid, Not really angst but like, Sleepy Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid Angst, Spencer Reid Fluff, Spencer Reid Whump, Tired Spencer Reid, Whumped Spencer Reid, they’re a lil family</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:53:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,084</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24445354</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/flustraaa/pseuds/flustraaa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“will someone please check to see if i have a sign on my back that says ‘stalk me?’, this happens too frequently.” </p><p>“nope, just one that says ‘resident dumbass’?” emily responds, voice questioning. </p><p>“sorry,” derek snorts, “you fell asleep at your desk, i couldn’t help myself.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aaron Hotchner &amp; Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan &amp; Spencer Reid, Emily Prentiss &amp; Spencer Reid, Henry LaMontagne &amp; Spencer Reid, Jack Hotchner &amp; Spencer Reid, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau &amp; Spencer Reid, Michael LaMontagne &amp; Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia &amp; Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid &amp; David Rossi, Spencer Reid &amp; The BAU Team</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>874</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>(that i’m such a stalker, a watcher,) a psychopath.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>yes it’s a conan gray song, no it is not a song fic, the lyrics just made me giggle.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s three in the morning and the team is huddled around the table, teetering varyingly in the realms of consciousness, Panda Express takeout boxes and drink cups littered across. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Spencer replays the last phone call in his head over and over, trying to find anything of substance but there’s nothing. Everyone’s brain is utterly fried and they can feel the hope slipping with each passing minute, fear ebbing it’s way into a concrete feeling somewhere in their minds. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What if— nope, it’s gone,” Garcia mumbles, sinking back into her chair with a sigh, brushing her bangs back so they stand straight up behind her hands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If Morgan wasn’t so tired, he would’ve laughed. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">From across the room, JJ manages to crack her eyes open, before landing on Spencer. They’re focused on the clear board covered in his hand writing, glasses perched back on his face and lips moving silently. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Spence?” She mumbles, and his jaw slacks as he rises to his feet, snatching a stray magenta marker from the table. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Reid?” Morgan echos, sitting up straight as they all focus on him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tired eyes, suddenly more awake, follow his hand as he writes out the phone conversation. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘<em>So Penelope executes nonstop</em>, <em>completing</em> the tasks <em>effectively</em>, too bad you can’t seem to <em>read</em> between the lines. <em>I</em> am the only one that can help now.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And it’s in the moment that Spencer underlines the letters, pulling them into a comprehensive line that Prentiss grabs the green marker from the board as Reid steps back, circling the words ‘read’ and ‘I’. She jots down what she sees, sharing a look with Spencer before moving out of the way. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The team blinks, staring at the messy letters on the board, and in marker, the name <em>Spencer Reid</em> stares back at them. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It was so <em>obvious</em>,” Spencer finally mumbles absently, more to himself than anyone else, “But I didn’t think—“ </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“To read between the lines,” Aaron finishes, blinking at the words. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Pretty Boy,” Morgan breathes, “Who the <em>hell</em> did you piss off?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Spencer blinks, mouth opening and closing as his gaze returns to the victims. He finds himself dead silent. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Garcia?” He manages hoarsely, as the case comes together at an unsettling pace, “Can you compare my Caltech ID picture to the picture of Joshua Waters.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She taps on her keyboard rapidly before stopping, they all turn to find her staring at the screen in horror. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What? Baby girl, what?” Morgan asks, freezing when he sees the image. Spencer counts three key taps; and they they follow her eyes the the screen.</span>
</p><p class="p1">The kids almost identical to Reid. </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Reid,” Morgan repeats, earlier joking tone gone. “Who did you piss off?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” Penelope breathes, pulling up a frame of the crime scene pictures, and the Medical Examiners report, “I think the question is who did he not <em>get</em> off.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The next day the team stumbles in, barely more rested than they had been a few hours ago, far too stirred up by the situation present at hand. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Spencer lies on the couch in the corner of the room face buried in the crevice where the cushion meets the back rest. Garcia’s fluffy pink Tardis blanket is draped around him and a case file is flipped over, pitched upwards like a tent, ends curling on the floor. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His glasses are discarded on the table, along with a few markers and his extra cardigan resting on the back of the chair. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They stand for a minute, before they catch sight of the board that’s been covered in Reid’s chicken scratch, made even messier with exhaustion. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s clipped his name and the comparison of photos to the corner of the board, but everything else is new.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They all sit down, quietly reviewing what’s been written until Reid shuffles from his spot on the couch, rolling over, eyes opening when a lithe arm slips off the couch and onto the floor. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Once his eyes focus on the table of agents he startles, before relaxing, “How long have you—“ </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not long,” Hotch says, “We were looking over what you did— you didn’t go to the hotel or take up JJ’s or Morgan’s guest room offer.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Spencer nods, gratefully accepting the coffee that Penelope hands him, with a soft ‘thank you’, before responding, “I couldn’t... it feels like—“ </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not your fault,” Rossi says, before he can finish the line of thought. “This is a stalker case, someone clearly in a psychotic break. Those kids are not your fault.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reid doesn’t make any acknowledgement of the the words, instead rising to his feet, walking to the board, sipping at the coffee. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think I made a dent, but I just... I’m missing something. I don’t know what it is and it’s—“ </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His words halt with the knock on the door, and Anderson stands with the deputy who’d found the first boys body at the door. “Sheriff Patton found a note on his desk this morning.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I reckon you’ll want to see this,” he murmurs, extending the note to Hotch who opens it. He slips it to Reid who snatches a pen from the cup on the table. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Reid what does it—“ </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But Spencer is miles away, “Morgan grab my— thank you.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Confirming the first line of the riddle, he trudges onwards, walk over to the small space left on the white board. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He speaks softly to himself as he writes, and the team tries to keep up behind him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How much was this?” The sherif mumbles, under his breath. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The... whiteboard?” JJ asks, not quite following. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” He replies, “the <em>cyborg</em>.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Garcia,” He breathes, “Who’s in apartment 18 of my building.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Garcia does silent for a long moment, before mumbling back, “Oh no.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” Prentiss asks, eyes concerned.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sheriff, how tight are your background checks?” She breathes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Does the same person own an address with the numbers 702 in it?” Spencer’s worst fears are confirmed when she pales considerably.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Doctor Reid?” One of the temps from the reception desk in the bullpen barges in, eyes wide, “There’s a call for you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He follows her, nodding absently, and the cluster of agents follow him. He picks up the phone, hearing erratic breathing on the other end.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m gonna kill him,” The voice murmurs, and Spencer opens his mouth to respond, “Such a shame he’s not as smart as you are, Doctor Reid.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t.” Spencer finds himself staring sternly, and Hotch sends him a warning glance that clearly reads, ‘don’t do it.’</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And why wouldn’t I? You remember what happened with your little friend Maeve, <em>don’t you</em>?” He asks, and Spencer hears a cry in the background, followed by a hard slap that makes him flinch.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why are you doing this?” He asks before he can help himself, even though he already knows the answer. “He’s just—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m in love with you!” The voice cuts him off harshly, and the whole bullpen has gone silent, staring at the conversation. “I’m in <em>love</em> with you, and you <em>never</em> noticed me!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Spencer’s silent, “You have an hour, or the kid dies.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And with a click, the unsub’s voice is gone, and Hotch is grabbing their vests and guns, and Morgan is pulling Reid to the SUVs. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hotch, I’ve got this under control, let me go in,” Spencer breathes, tightening his vest under his cardigan.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Reid, as much as I would like to believe that—“ but Spencer cuts him off before he can push further.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If I don’t go in that kids odds of survival drop—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Reid.” Morgan abridges, concern clearly overwhelming the frustration, “If you go it the survival chances of you drop.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll be fine. I’ll call for backup. You hear gunshots you come in.” Morgan stares and Reid shakes his head, “We’re wasting time, if I don’t go now this kid—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let him in,” Rossi says, nodding at Hotch.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It takes a moment, but finally Hotch nods, shoving a clicker into Reid’s inner cardigan pocket, “You signal us the second you need us.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, sir.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And Reid?” Rossi calls, “For the love of God and all things holy, do not take off the goddamn vest.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Spencer’s is creeping around the warehouse, when he catches sight of Joshua.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Unfortunately, it seem that this is the exact moment the Peters finds him. A serrated machete is held to his throat and Reid finds himself being backed further into a dark corner.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Drop the weapon.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Spencer gasps, pressing down on the end of the clicker. “I’m unarmed. I’m going to hold up my hands, and you can check.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peters free hand run down Spencer’s body, lingering for a moment too long to be just a pat down. Spencer squirms as the stray hand finds his... well, his hand was somewhere it definitely shouldn’t have been for a pat down.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not hiding a gun in my—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Shut up</em>!” Peters roars, trailing just hand down Spencer’s cheek, before lowering his voice to a raspy whisper, “Let me have this. Let me have <em>you</em>.” </span>
</p><p class="p2">The doors bang open and Peters eyes open wide, before he hisses out, “<em>Snitch</em>!”</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The next few moment pass in a blur, and Spencer barely registers them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Morgan and Hotch run up to him, but they can’t see him in the shadows where he stands. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He’s going to the balcony,” Spencer says, oddly calm, “Go around back and up the stairs. There’s stairs on the other half. Go, get emily and split, I’ll get Josh.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They nod, not second guessing him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Running on adrenaline, Reid manages to get over to Josh who stares at him with wide eyes, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Spencer clips the zip ties that line the young boys arms, sweat beading at the top of his head and the base of his neck.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>When did it get so hot in there</em>?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He slowly unties the rope around the kids feet, before helping him get the tape off his lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The kid launches into his arms, minding his left side. There’s struggle, and Reid watches as Morgan shoves Peters out of the sliding doors, JJ coming by and picking up the kid.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Taking a shuddering breath, Reid manages to get himself outside the doors. Everything goes stock still the second they see him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Reid?” Emily says warily, “What’s in your vest?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Spencer looks down, and finally finds the blade he’d been looking for once Peters ran free.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Oh</em>,” He breathes dumbly, hand gripping the machete, brain failing to process that he shouldn’t pull it out, “That’s where that went.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>No</em>!” It’s a common word that leaves everyone’s mouth as the blade pulls free of the skin, kevlar, and the wool wrapped over him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reid glances up, just long enough to make eye contact and drop the knife before his knees buckle beneath him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He blinks and suddenly Rossi is hovering over him, struggling to pull off the vest. </span>
</p><p class="p2">“No, don’t,” Reid breathes, and Morgan tries to catch his breathe because this is the version of Reid that regresses him back to when he was young, his long time outgrown lisp returning and his brain functioning at almost the same pace as everyone else.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The hell do you mean?” Rossi breathes, “I’m taking the damn vest off.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reid’s lips quirk upward, “You said <em>not</em> to take off the vest.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s in that moment they realise Reid can’t think of any statistics through the pain, and he’d been trying to diffuse the situation. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And as much as they hate to admit it, it works. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Jesus, kid,” Rossi breathes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not <em>Jesus</em>,” he mumbles, brows furrowing, “I’m Spencer.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Or at least it did— until his eyes roll back and his head lulls to the left. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The first time Reid wakes up, Morgan is sitting in the corner, munching on blue jello and occasionally taking a break from looking out the window to look at Spencer. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you eating my jello <em>again</em>?” Spencer’s voice is slurred, and dry. He’ll be back out any minute. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, you hate blue jello. There’s a cup of strawberry with your name on it.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Spencer’s lips pull into an exhausted, but amused smile, and his eyes start closing on their own accord. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey,” his eyes open, and he looks at Morgan— who must’ve moved to sit on the corner of his bed in the few seconds his eyes were closed. He holds up a cup of water with a purple bendy straw peaking up. “Before you conk out again, drink some of this. Slowly.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Spencer obliges, realising how dry his throat is; he takes long slow sips, but seemingly falls asleep in the middle. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek pulls the cup back, and Spencer’s eyes eyes flutter open, “Thanks, Derek.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No problem, Pretty Ricky, get some rest.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But it seems as though Reid doesn’t have to be told twice, breaths already beginning to even out. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The next time Reid’s eyes open, he’s barely coherent. He finds Garcia, Rossi, and Hotch looking at him. Morgan remained in the room, but he was passed out in the chair now. The room was darker than last time. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s a sleepover,” He mumbles, and everyone turns to look at him. Even Morgan rises, blinking sleep from his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What was that, sweetheart?” Penelope asks softly, tucking his hair back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s a sleepover. I’ve never had one of those,” he blurts, a little louder but his words are just as slurred as they were the first time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Kid, it’s not a sleepover. You’re in the <em>hospital</em>.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Yeah</em>?” Reid challenges, thought its anything but stern, “Then <em>why</em> am I in this <em>sick</em> nightgown and <em>rad</em> pair of purple socks?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rossi glances around, finding a rare smile blossoming on Hotch’s lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I....” Rossi sighs, “You got me there kid. Truth or dare?” </span>
</p><p class="p2">“Dare,” Reid grins woozily.</p><p class="p2">“I dare you to take this shot of grape Tylenol, and go back to sleep.”</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And he does.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The third time is the charm.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That’s the only thought that occupies Morgan’s mind when Spencer opens his eyes with a groan, hand reaching up to his side. He hisses through gritted teeth, when he makes contact pulling away.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The glazed over look fades, and Spencer looks at everyone in the room. He startled when he realises where he is.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did they give me—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, no. That’s why it hurts. You’re basically only on the liquid Tylenol and water right now.” Reid visibly relaxes at Hotch’s words.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you missing time?” Emily asks after a few moments of concentrated breathing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reid hesitates, eyes closed and brow furrowed, “Just a little. I don’t remember taking Tylenol, but I remember... <em>blue jello?</em>”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His face scrunches at the words and Morgan lets out a snort, picking up the up of strawberry jello and a spoon, smiling when Reid reaches for it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is there any—“ JJ places the water with the bendy straw in his hand and he grins, thanking her as he sips slowly, setting aside the jello cup.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do what do you remember from the arrest?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reid breaks his lips away from the straw, “I was really hot. Except when Peters....” he trails off. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“When he stabbed you?” Reid shakes his head before jolting.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did we get Joshua?” He relaxes when they nod.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You cut him free and brought him out. When we saw the knife, you seemed like you noticed it too. You pulled it out and dropped,” Rossi grimaces.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reid’s hand finds the bandages, “Oh, yeah. I was thinking that I should get it out, I wasn’t thinking about...”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’ve been in an out for about a day.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reid nods, taking in the information, “I still feel... slow.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You hit the ground hard, mild concussion,” Garcia adds softly, “Shouldn’t be more than a month.” </span>
</p><p class="p2">He nods thoughtfully, taking in a bit of jello, and Hotch continues, “One of us is going to stay with you, or alternatively you’re going to stay with us for another day. Just need to make sure you’re in the clear.”</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reid’s lips turn downward, and Morgan sighs, “Kid, we know you’re capable of taking care of yourself. We just need to make sure your concussion is all in the clear.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey,” Reid retorts, “No profiling.” </span>
</p><p class="p2">Morgan raises his hands defensively.</p><p class="p2">“Henry really wants to see his uncle Spencer,” JJ says softly, laying a comforting hand on his, “Jack is coming over too. We could have a <em>sleepover</em>.”</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reid blinks, clearly lost, “What?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rossi snorts and the memory hits Reid like a bus, “That <em>never</em> leaves this room.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sure it won’t,” Hotch grins, “But if someone from the bullpen brings it up I’m sure it’s <em>just</em> a <em>coincidence</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hotch, the minute I don’t have a hole in my body, I’m going to murder you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Pretty Boy,” Morgan states, “He could snap you like a <em>twig</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All Spencer responds with is a glower while he frame another spoonful of jello in his mouth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>He kinda looks like a chipmunk</em>, Rossi thinks. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Will makes his way upstairs to check on Spencer and the boys, he finds Reid and two of the three boys knocked out cold on the bed. </span>
</p><p class="p2">Henry is in the process of covering his cousin, brother, and uncle in a Pokémon blanket when Will heads downstairs to get the team. When the return to the guest room, Henry too has joined the other boys in the land of the snoozing.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh that’s precious,” Penelope coos, one hand pressed to her heart and a wine glass in the other.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Henry’s head is resting on the shoulder of Spencer’s injured side, Jack’s on his chest and Michael tucked between Jack and Spencer, his head resting on Spencer’s thigh.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They snap a few pictures, before turning off all but the night light. Hotch sits on the foot of the bed, stirring Reid awake without disrupting the kids around him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When his eyes flutter open he looks at Hotch, “Hey, what are your Godson’s names, Reid?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Henry and Michael,” He mumbles, moving to sit up before he realises that the two aforementioned children were snoring against him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good. We just had to check. Go back to sleep, Reid.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t argue, sinking back down onto the bed, and returning to sleep in record time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I forget how young he is sometimes,” Will says, leaning against the door.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tell me about it,” it’s not one voice, but the whole teams before they all fall into a soft round of laughs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And with one more glance at their friend, they make their back to the kitchen for another round of wine.</span>
</p>
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